Wednesday Words on Love

There is no power whose strength exceeds

Love

There is nothing without limits but this…

Love

There is a universal language without words…

Love

There is an arm that cannot be out-reached…

Love

There is a message not easily misunderstood…

Love

There is nothing in existence without this…

Love

Beauty shines in one simple word…

Love

Take time for others; take time to…

Love

The only thing we receive as we give is…

Love

We could all use a little more…

Love

…therefore we should all give a little more…

Love  

We cannot pretend…

Love

© Janet Martin

By This One Thing...

Not in great knowledge we may boast

Nor by the words we say

Not through stiff laws that we enforce

Nor lengthy prayers we pray

Not by the wisdom we may glean

Or monetary gifts

No, this is not what will be seen

By hungry souls adrift

Not by the food we choose to eat

Nor by our clothes or car

Not through some grand and glorious feat

Will men know who we are

Not by a staunch, religious show

Of solemn piety

No, this is not how they will know

Who follows faithfully

Not by a ceremonial chant

Or what we’ve sacrificed

Nor by tradition’s rigid rant

Will we be recognized

But by one trait and one alone

We prove our difference

After the chaff from wheat has blown

Remains the evidence

And by this humble surety

Will be the single proof

Of they who follow faithfully

And do not stand aloof

Not by some impassable request

Will we reflect our Father

But purely, clearly, simply this

How we love one another

© Janet Martin

What is Love?

Wordless Epiphany

If bird could put in word

The melody that paints the dawn

And spills from wooded columns of the earth

T’would awe the mortal passer-by

To hear its message known

As they pour out the fullness of their worth

The poet with its little pen

Would realize at last

That there will ever be elusive thoughts

Even a sparrow understands

His mission is to pass

From mouth to men what its Master allots

And neither does the dull-clad throng

Seal up its melody

To envy the devotion of the lark

Oh list, the myriad of song

That sets the midnight free

And tunes the morning while it yet is dark

If bird could put in word

The praise that surges from its beak

T’would be a glorious epiphany

Of worship in its purest form

Not by the words we speak

But unbounded thanksgiving flowing free

© Janet Martin

The dawn was full of bird-song…

From crow to lark!

Of Reluctant Relinquishments...

…and so then, when the sun comes up

Glazing with gold the dangling leaf

And the dew-lipped earth; a silver cup

Mirrors its eons of passion and grief

When the song-bird flits from its shady perch

To herald the morn awakening fair

From maple and willow, from elm and birch

They warble and fill the virgin air

With their song; you will not be here

…and just because I taste your name

Where once your kisses filled my mouth

And just because all seems the same

Against my east, west, north and south

And just because there is no grave

On which to shed my silent screams

And just because the heart is brave

In spite of torn and tattered dreams

That once we shared; you will not be here

…and all the ‘something mores’ we crave

If the raw, raging truth were told

And all the blessings that we have

Will not keep us from growing old

And all the ‘never mores’ we knew

Meld into fabrics of the heart

Where they remain, an avenue

Strewn recklessly with precious art

Called memories; you will not be here

…but you will be where all the rest

Like you have gone to fill the past

Briefly my love, you were the best

But now your void is iron-cast

I held you closely and we danced

But quietly you slipped away

Without a tender backward glance

You disappeared into the gray

And come what may you will never be here again

...for you are Yesterday

© Janet Martin

Righteous Brothers; Unchained Melody
J~

Beautiful Blanket of July

Beautiful blanket of July

Sunflower, lily and butter-fly

Queen Ann’s lace in the wild hedge-row

Wheat fields rippling with golden flow

Beautiful blanket of July

Quilt beneath an azure sky

Locust and cricket serenade

Sweet-tea on throws of dappled shade

Beautiful blanket of July

Sultry minuet sparkling by

Of bare toes skimming clover-mead

Of fair rose dripping petals, red

Beautiful blanket of July

Heavenly splendor pleases the eye

Summer perfection pinned to the sky

Oh, beautiful blanket of July

© Janet Martin

Of All We Full Well Know...

Full well we know we cannot see

Beyond our toil and trouble

Full well we know eternity

Will claim life’s fleeting bubble

Full well we know tis but one life

Allotted to each man

Full well we know we aught to give

The best of what we can

Full well we know these days of grass

Fall swiftly to oblivion

And soon eternities will pass

One moment as a million

Full well we know His way is Peace

His grace has paid our debt

And though full well we know all this

How sadly we forget

Full well we know Time is a glance

Full well we realize

We cannot fathom timelessness

Above life’s little skies

Full well we know we do not know

The ways of Providence

Yet, by the mercies He bestows

His gifts are evidence

…of Love and Joy and Hope and Peace

To comfort us below

In all of life uncertainties

For all we do not know

© Janet Martin

Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Uncertainties

Song of Grace

How Great Thou Art Alan Jackson

But by the grace of God go I

See how the rain falls from the sky

See how the spring time spawns new birth

How summer wheat leaps from the earth

Humbly, I lift my voice and cry

But by the grace of God go I

But by the grace of God go I

See how the fledgling learns to fly

See how the baby learns to walk

How corn hangs heavy on the stalk

And all that I can do is cry

But by the grace of God go I

But by the grace of God go I

We are born, we live; we die

The only boast within life’s hour

Is what is rendered by His power

As we join nature’s hymn to cry

But by the grace of God go I

© Janet Martin

The Poet's Pen

The poet’s pen

Is filled with blood

And stars

And flowers and tears

It spills

According to the mood

Of Muse

Or tilted spheres

The poet’s pen

Is like a knife

Or scalpel

Ruthless; keen

It slices through the outer flesh

To hearts

And scars

And dreams

The poet’s pen

Can be a curse

Or a divine-breathed quill

It shapes dull letters

Into sobs,

And aches

And chills

And thrills

The poet’s pen

Is filled with lust

For all unwritten things

It tears man’s longing

From the dust

It wails

It sighs

It sings

The poet’s pen

Is filled with blood

The tears of heart and soul

And oh, the passion

Of its flood

When it

Loses

Control

© Janet Martin

Pen and I

…and so we dance

On some days bold and sure-footed

On others

Trembling; uncertain

We trace the landscape

Of time and experience

Or inexperience

Always searching

For what lies

Behind those eyes

Beneath the smile

The skin

Sun-warmed 

The earth

Knowing in the end

Our dance will be

A configuration of curves and lines

To spell a poem

© Janet Martin

Of Ticks and Tocks

It ticks away

April then May

Fair June, dashing July

I cannot thwart

Its cool cavort

Into the by and by

It ticks away

Silent sashay

Moment to memory

Only God knows

How far time flows

Until eternity

© Janet Martin

Yesterday I laid in the backyard for a long time with a book and a camera...the sky was a constant slide-show of texture and change...and that's how and where the summer goes. I determine to slow the rush, absorb the hush of sunshine sultry-sweet...too soon the clutch of Autumn's touch will dull its rippling heat!

International Housewives' Day

Today is International Housewives’ Day

We will acknowledge the domestic ranks

For months and years and centuries

They have toiled with paltry thanks

Many are ignorant of her worth

They spurn the thought of mundane chores

Considered low-balls of the earth

Fit for cleaning drawers and floors

Orange rind from the coffee table

All the clutter as it falls

They think that she is merely able

To wash dishes, clothes or walls

But this is International Housewives’ Day

So we will shout her accolades

Eternity will owe her pay

For all the beauty she creates

She fills a home with simple joy

Not for monetary wealth

But for the love of girl or boy

For home and happiness and health

She toils in sweet obscurity

Subtracting nothing from her worth

No sting of shame encumbers she

For housewives are salt of the earth

Here’s to housewives the world over! Cheers!

© Janet Martin

Sunday Whirl

 

I Love July

I love July

Her cerulean eye

Embroidered gold

Against the green

I love the sweep

Of azure deep

The sultry fold

Of midday sheen

I love the blush

Of late-day hush

The garden brimming

With its laud

As seed and root

Become the fruit

In gracious giving

From our God

I love July

I laugh, I cry

I dance and hold

Its music near

For this I know

Too soon the glow

Of blue and gold

Will disappear

© Janet Martin

Perhaps It Is Nothing...

Perhaps it’s the perfection in the azure of blue

Or the way the clouds wander and tumble awry

That reminds me so keenly of how I miss you

And of how times slips so quietly by

Perhaps it’s the fabric of mid-summer bliss

Perfect and sheer and transient at best

Perhaps it’s her sultry and wanton caress

That stirs the missing you deep in my chest

Perhaps it is nothing; or everything lost

That suddenly clenches my innermost part

Perhaps it is simply surreal oceans tossed

In unfathomed reaches concealed in the heart

J~

Gracious Insufficiencies

Of things too near and dear to me

It seems I cannot speak

Or breathe its form in inept verbal art

I tremble, for the pen I hold

Is powerful, yet weak

Too weak to spell the silence of the heart

Though pulses throb with quiet want

To spill its candid draught

The pen obeys the movement of the hand

The words I crave dangle and taunt

Unformed within my thought

Sealed just beyond my beckoning demand

Perhaps there are no syllables

To shape our deeper pines

Is this life’s gracious insufficiency?

Perhaps it is enough for us

To read between the lines

And understand what word can never be

© Janet Martin

Of Certainties...

There is one Certainty that keeps uncertainties in check

We know not what a night or day will bring

For life’s uncertainties seem never to reside or rest

So to this One sure Certainty I cling

Though famine, flood, worry or woe plagues this frail, earthen sphere

Thrusting uncertainty across life’s road

And though the things we love soon change, decay or disappear

One Certainty remains to under goad

Nothing can separate us from His everlasting love

As we lift our uncertainties to Him

His promise leaps from vaults beneath and crowns the heavens above

It whispers in the hour growing dim

No height or depth, no life or death can separate mankind

From His great love affirmed within His Word

Uncertainties may twist and turn; a dark, demonic wind

But Certainty abides in Christ the Lord  

© Janet Martin

The Allotment of Bliss

Housewives…some see it as an allotment for the ignorant

And they spurn its humble sound

Spring to fall, months, then soon another year has spun around

Of scrubbing floors, tidying drawers, of laundry’s ceaseless chore

An eternity of subtracting hours, sting of ordinary…nothing more

But I love dishwater hands and brooms that dance

And shiny sparkling halls

I love baking bread and making beds or peanut-butter balls

I love the life

Of a contented housewife

A child upon my lap

The music of clean clothes on the line

As they flounce and flap

The rind of judgment makes me smile

I feel no animosity

I think I’ll wander outside for a while

With a book and a cup of tea

© Janet Martin

Sunday Whirl #64

Longing is a Tortured Serenade

Longing is a tortured serenade

Dripping from the spires of July

It hovers in the misty, midnight glade

And trembles in the breeze’s lowered sigh

I offer up a word of feeble thanks

To drown its melody of raging thirst

Fear resurrects its dark and devious ranks

Longing quivers like an arrow cursed

What was, what is, and what is yet to be

Fulfillment beats in half-breaths and eighth-notes

Moments unfold, now becomes history

Longing snuffs the thank-you in my throat

I close my eyes; its song is raw and low

Fear ravages the still and stringent air

Longing aches in rhythms sad and slow

Until my thank-you turns into a prayer

The tortured serenade becomes a hymn

Filling the emptiness in longing’s gaze

It dances on the whisper of the wind

Thanksgiving turns my longing into praise

© Janet Martin

 

A Mother's Uncertainties

 Poetic Bloomings Prompt: Uncertainties

Over the years

I am certain you’ve heard me

Easing my fears

In last minute reminders...

“Use your manners now

Don’t talk with your mouth full

Be gentle, be kind and be careful

Respect your teachers

And your classmates too

When someone offers you a ride

Please say thank-you

Let others go first

Don’t push and shove

Say excuse me when you want someone to move

Walk, don’t run in church or school halls

Don’t spend money carelessly

If you go to the mall

Don’t drive too fast

Give the teacher that note

The permission slips

And the thank-you I wrote

Don’t waste your food

Do what is good

Someone is watching when you think you're alone

So do as you know you should

Mind your ‘pleases’

And your ‘thank-yous’

It’s okay to say no

When it’s the wrong you refuse

Play the game fairly

Obey the Golden Rule

Drugs are poison

And they are not cool

Oh, and don’t drive too fast

Did I already say that?

Be careful…oh,

I’ve said that too

Many, many times, it’s true

Yes, I’m certain you’ve heard me

Over and over

But I am still quite uncertain

As to what you remember…

© Janet Martin

Undisguised Honesty

If raw ink-drops would bleed our deepest thought

And there would be no seal upon our pen

If we should dare to unleash verbal blood

Allowing suppressed emotion its free reign

Would any love us when the truth has spilt?

Or would love redeem the anguish of our guilt?

Distorted law may raise its gavel higher

And sear truth’s parchment in its pious clutch

The fullness of admission sparks a fire

Where secret follies are too clear to touch

And judgment blushes, for a kindred spark

Opens to usher light into the dark

If raw ink drops would spill across a page

Where none could shield the truth with painted lies

If honesty would blaze on center stage

Appalling in its naked un-disguise

Would there be any left to shake our hand?

Would any whisper, yes, I understand?

© Janet Martin

What is Justice?

“Justice” screams the mob

Let him pay for what he has done

…and they turn with hate to chant his fate

He, the unwanted…nobody’s son

© Janet Martin

Where Bracken and Buckwheat Blow ...a Sonnet

Beside us the bracken and buckwheat blow

We gather; as dirge of maple and birch

Ruffles the soft, solemn hush of the crowd

In a still graveyard next to a white church

Asleep in Jesus and Amazing Grace

Trembling with sorrow, our words and tears blend

This body has reached its last resting place

We must return to life’s journey again

Back to the learning, the groaning of toil

Back to the earning of Treasure or spoil

***

Out in the distance a katydid trills

Here we commit our loved one to the earth

Cradled forever by rivers and hills

A marble monument its single proof

Of beloved lips that smiled, laughed and kissed

Of work-worn hands that labored long and hard

Of eyes that twinkled in blue tenderness

Recalled as we gather in this graveyard

Where only the shell is covered with sod

Memories dwell in our hearts; soul with God

***

…now we turn, from the tear-stained mound of dirt

We are not yet summoned by He who ordains

Our numbered moments of heart-ache and hurt

We must return to life’s passion and pain

Of buckwheat and bracken; of sun-scorched halls

To plant and to harvest its tare-stricken clime

Someday it will be our name that He calls

Closing our eyes on this vapor of Time

The tide of mankind surges as a whole

Until God separates body from soul

© Janet Martin

On Forgiveness...

 Image Source: http://www.choosing-life-my-way.com/forgiveness-quotes.html

 Poetry Jam invites our thoughts on Forgiveness

In it there is no half-the-way

No self-indulgent rage

No dark and harbored bitterness

If love takes center-stage

In it I must fore-go revenge

And animosity

For by its measure that I give

It shall be given me

If I choose to withhold love’s grace

Or refuse to forget

If I’m reluctant to erase

With love the debtor’s debt…

…then I in turn heap to myself

A hundred fold the guilt

If I withhold that which I seek

In Calvary’s pardon spilt  

© Janet Martin

  

Half a Mustard Seed

I Need Thee Every Hour

I’ve always known my faith untried

Might be but half a mustard seed

Yet I know I cannot sustain

The depth of my most trivial need

And so I reach beyond myself

For this I know most certainly

There is a higher Hand to grasp

Although its form I cannot see

How can I know until it’s tried

The measure of faith’s depth or creed

I have trembled, prayed and cried

As I beheld my mustard seed

But as the unknown road of life

Tries me in its turn and twist

I reach above this temporal strife

To unseen Truths I know exist

I cannot see this Hand above

But oh, I feel its tender touch

It surrounds with His love

And I don’t worry quite so much

Humbly I whisper, for a spark

Though it is half a mustard seed

Will glimmer through the darkest dark

And render peace in spite of need

© Janet Martin

Of Seeds and Such...

They fall along the wayside

A subtle scattered seed

As thought becomes an action

And action becomes deed

With studious regarding

We should tend the field

Where first the seed is starting

Before it bears its yield

For soon along the wayside

The seed begins to grow

And soon our hidden thought-life

Observant eyes will know

They fall along the wayside

A subtle scattered seed

With diligent discernment

Its ilk we ought to heed

© Janet Martin

Where True Love Shines...a re-post

I wrote this approx. a year ago and I want to re-post it as a thanks to all of those traveling 'second miles'.

I’ve heard love declared in words
And garnished with a smile
But I have seen it walk its talk
Within a second mile

True love needs no ruse or guise
It needs no pomp or style
And it will always prove itself
Within the second mile

Love is not a fancy hat
That we may don awhile
Nor does it wait until its asked
To walk the second mile

There is no facade in love
No pretense in its smile
And I have felt its purest touch
Within its second mile

Janet~

Of Destinies and Dreams...

Creeping above earth’s elusive ledge

Are hints of a new unknown

For only One can see beyond

The course of the rising sun

Man may plan and dream and plod

Toward ambition’s goal

But destiny resides with God

For He is in control

© Janet Martin

Rest Well, my Love

Image Source: relaxedpolitics.com

 

Rest well, my love

All those dreams we’re dreaming of

And all those fears we fear

All the hopes we’re hoping for

Will simply wait, my dear

…or, while you rest perhaps our dreams

Will unfold like a flower

Our harbored fear might disappear

As Hope affirms its Power

© Janet Martin

Poetic Bloomings Prompt; 'get some rest' was too timely to ignore...hubby is in hospital recovering from ruptured appendix!

Would I?

Would I?

If Christ turned and looked at me

From cries of hatred’s violent clan

Would I stand beside Him or cry fearfully

‘I never knew this man’?

Could I?

If they all stood with arms up-raised

And rocks within their grasp

To stone me; would I declare God’s praise

And to His love hold fast?

Will I?

Will I, in spite of enemies

My Savior’s love defend

And live life’s moments faithfully

For Him until its end?

© Janet Martin

The Fellowship of Silences

The Music in It Prompt: Silence

To commune with silence

is blissful fellowship

in proper balance

But oh, the oceans

that surge and slip

as we dance

Silence teams

with wanton whispers

The sky is full

Memories and dreams

of which I am not master

Push and pull

Silences cannot be stilled

by stopping of ears

or closing of door

Who knew that silence could be filled

with the sound of tears

pelting a phantom shore?

Silence is a painter

A Maestro of thought

composing master-piece art

on canvases broader

than heavens above

but sealed in the heart

J~